


Those Frenchies Seek Him Everywhere

by ladypimpernel



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 2011 Summer Fic Exchange, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Charles is a Tease, Erik questions his morals, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Mischief, Not THAT kind of tease, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypimpernel/pseuds/ladypimpernel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for a Historical!AU over at the Erik/Charles community on LJ.  </p><p>Basically, Charles is the Scarlet Pimpernel, and Erik is knee-deep in the revolution...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Frenchies Seek Him Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is from 2011, but I realized that this had never gone up on any additional fic sites. Very fun to write. In lieu of DoFP, I felt like it should see the light of day.

The night patrol was always Erik’s favorite time of the day. Despite the raucous shouts of crowds around every corner, he felt like he had infinitely more peaceful moments in these few hours by himself than in his blurred days trudging through the dirty streets littered with even dirtier people. He often questioned how it all had come to this.  
  
Erik was very sure that this is not what he had signed up for. The old elite had been thrown out; marched to the guillotine with people yelling “Good riddance!” as they approached the scaffold. It was an almost seamless transition to a new elite – the men he worked for Robespierre and Chauvelin. They were on top, but Erik had a sickening feeling that this sense of power was pure illusion. The people would get tired once again and find fault with their heavy handed technique. Erik often had the feeling that he was hanging on to his tumultuous life by a thin string. He needed to get out.  
  
The cold night air helped him breathe through the sudden anxiety these thoughts brought. Even in this violent climate there was still hope for those who wanted to get away. There were whispers of formerly imprisoned aristos popping up in England to live among those of large country manors and even more lavish courtly parties. These endangered souls had been delivered to the Dover shore by none other than a costumed hero of sorts. This was the Scarlet Pimpernel.  
  
Erik snorted at the thought of the man. Who would be so arrogant as to believe that they could outsmart the terrible, merciless _citoyens_ who cried out for the guillotine at the sign of the minutest dissent? Erik had serious doubts that such an individual did exist. He knew it was the habit of an oppressed people to hold whispers of a folk hero on a pedestal.  
  
“Excuse me, _citoyen_ ,” a young man’s voice called out to him. Erik turned abruptly, half tempted to draw his gun just to look threatening. The commoners needed to learn that they couldn’t sneak up on those such as him. Under the lamp light, he could make out a sharp looking chin and charming smile.  
  
“You should know better, _citoyen_.” Erik punctuated the last word with a certain bitterness.  
  
"In what way, sir? " his reply was quick and colored with wit. The man took a few more steps towards Erik until he was completely illuminated.  
  
It was then that Erik was met with stunning blue eyes and a never-souring gaze. "Not even a private citizen can be out for a stroll now?" The stranger went on. He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "My, my, it's quite a time to live in, isn't it, _citoyen_?" The man made no more movements but waited for Erik (in his sudden astonishment) to come up with a response to such a statement.  
  
“ I would take care to watch my tongue. One could accuse you of treason!” Erik spat, the venom not lost on the other man.  
  
The stranger had the audacity to giggle at him!  
  
“Treason? I think not! My loyalty lies with the greatest empire this world has ever known…despite its aged ruler…”  
  
Erik’s eyebrows narrowed, “You are English then?” Erik felt like he already knew the answer to his own question.  
  
“That I am,” the stranger confirmed, eyes twinkling. Erik could hear the lilt in his voice now, but only if he paid particular attention. He would have never caught the inconsistency if the stranger hadn't pointed it out himself.  
  
“What is your business here?” Erik didn't miss a beat, ever the prop as a misguided deliverer of justice. The other man’s gaze darted suddenly to Erik’s waist.  
  
“Were you going to shoot me, _citoyen_?” Even for the likes of you that seems a little unwarranted.”  
  
“ What is your name?” Erik all but growled. He would not even think of answering this English fop’s inane questions.  
  
“Sir Charles Xavier. And you are?” Erik falters, almost forgetting even the most basic and polite questions all normal people learn with elementary etiquette. Normal seems so far away to when you’re used to your superiors barking orders to their disposable underlings and not much caring for an answer in return.  
  
“Citoyen Erik Lensherr,” Erik answers trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice.  
  
Just Erik Lensherr, then,” Charles corrected, quirking a silent eyebrow that practically screamed “Challenge me!” “Do you enjoy patrolling the streets at night, Erik?”  
  
“Extremely,” Erik’s voice carried a purposeful cheeriness. “I’m sure I enjoy it just as much as you enjoy your aristo _freedom_ , my lord.” If Charles was stung by this barb, there was no outward indicator. He remained his calm self; twinkle never diminishing.  
  
“Oh, I enjoy it very much,” the dandy laughed. “But really,” Charles continued finally drawing closer to the other man, “you cannot enjoy treading over the less fortunate so much as to have boots with blood painting the heel prints.” There was a pause. “Figuratively, of course.”  
  
“If by ‘less fortunate’ you mean the aristos, then, yes. I enjoy it just as much as I enjoy my nighttime stroll.”  
  
Charles’ voice became unexpectedly quiet,  
  
“You enjoy this time of night, then, when you can’t hear the screams of execution, the hungry children begging in the streets, or the bark of the dogs who are surely picking at the corpses of _Madame Guillotine’s_ victims? Yes, if I had a choice, I would certainly choose this patrol. One shudders to think of the activity which erupts here when the sun starts to rise.” If Erik knew better, he would have thought Charles shook just a bit.  
  
“And that is why you are an Englishman. You sit perfectly prim and proper in your country estate far removed from the toils of the common man –“  
  
“Yet, the common man is the one who knows the worst toils in your land, _citoyen_.” Charles gave a nod of his head. Another open invitation for Erik to come to the Republic’s defense. He did not rise to the bait.  
  
“ You speak as if you _know_ the toils!”  
  
Charles took a deep breath,  
  
“Yes, well… The measure of a man is not calculated by the suffering he has been put through but how he handles such suffering.” Erik blinked back at him almost stupidly. He certainly didn't expect something so profound to emerge from this ridiculous man’s mouth.  
  
“Yes, it’s all well and easy for you to say that,” Erik retorted. He did not want the other man believing he had won their little verbal sparring match.  
  
“It’s easy for men of your home country to optimistic.” He scoffed, “You've even created a myth that is impossibly larger and more fantastic than a single man is capable of being – The Scarlet Pimpernel.”  
  
“Oh, oh! He is real, sir,” Charles’ voice was full of mirth. “He’s as real as Robespierre is a tyrant and as real as the disheartened people of your homeland who have lost sight of what life should be like! There is no shame in hoping.” Charles added this last part softly, almost giving the idea time to sink in. “That is what we Englishmen have that you Frenchies have forgotten.” There was a squeeze to Erik’s shoulder and fading steps as the aristocrat retreated from their place of conversation. Erik could say nothing, but the stricken expression on his face spoke for him. Despite all of the charged words exchanged between the two men, Charles has successfully planted a seed which preyed on Erik’s already existing doubts and fears about the Republic. Erik could do nothing else but continue on his patrol, walking the opposite way from where Charles had departed.  
  
“Oh, my good man,” Charles’ voice came rushing back along with quickly approaching footsteps. “If you need me,” he smiled at Erik, tucking a piece of paper into the Frenchman’s front coat pocket, “just call me.” Winking at Erik, he finally disappeared into the night.  
  
Erik waited until he could no longer hear even the faintest click of Charles’ shoes on the cobblestone before withdrawing the parchment. The only thing written there was a hastily scrawled image of that now infamous flower – the Scarlet Pimpernel.

 


End file.
